


Temperance

by karuvapatta



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Blood and Violence, Bottom Thor, Gangsters, Loki Has Issues, M/M, Rimming, Romance, Thor Is Not Stupid, stuckythorki secret santa 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5483858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gunshots in an abandoned warehouse, a bleeding man in a dark alley, possibly dangerous liaisons with gang members, and yet Thor *still* refuses to run away from it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temperance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissNefer (thorduna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/gifts).



There was a lot of blood running down the man’s face. Hardly visible in the dim lights of the warehouse, but unmistakable nonetheless.

Thor worked automatically, with a pair of latex gloves pulled onto his hands and a small flashlight to help him. The stranger must have limped his way out of the warehouse and into the back alley before collapsing on the ground. They were alone as far as he could see, but there were still sounds coming from the inside that Thor did his best to ignore. He had already called the police, but the man might bleed to death before help had the chance to arrive.

He had noticed the figure huddled in the corner, with his back against the brick wall. The man had his eyes closed, clearly too disorientated to take notice of Thor, but he breathed just fine, if a little unsteadily. Thor was careful when approaching him, and rightfully so: as soon as he had come too close, he saw the dark-haired head whip up and the eerie flash of eyes in the light.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man hissed.

Instead of backing away, Thor reached out to help him seat, keeping his movements as sure and non-threatening as he could manage. “Relax,” he said. “I’m just trying to help.”

The stranger was far from relaxing. He allowed himself to be manhandled but his eyes were still boring into Thor’s, bright and hostile.

“I don’t know you,” he said. He spoke hoarsely and took shallow breaths; a broken rib, perhaps. Thor should take a look at that, too, as soon as he had dealt with the bleed

“I don’t know you either,” Thor said. “But you seem to be in some kind of trouble.”

A smirk looked even creepier on a blood-soaked face, especially coupled with the mocking note in the man’s voice. “Is that meant to be funny?”

“Not my best joke, I admit,” Thor said. “Can you walk?”

“I walked here, didn’t I?” the man said. “Who _are_ you? Are you with the—” He bit his tongue, almost audibly. Then he pressed his lips together and shrugged, “Never mind. Lead on, I’ll manage.”

As he was clearly running on pride rather than actual physical ability, the man could not stand up without Thor’s help. But he did take a few, wobbly steps, with an arm thrown over Thor’s shoulders. His fingers dug painfully into Thor’s muscle, but he decided not to comment on the fact, supporting his weight and directing his sluggish footsteps

Beneath the fresh sweat and the metallic note of blood, he noticed the pleasant aroma of the man’s cologne. Clearly an expensive one. Perhaps this wasn’t the impoverished victim of a drug addiction Thor had assumed him to be.

Uneasy suspicion crept up his spine, especially since the warehouse now remained silent. But they were nearly at the mouth of the alley; he felt the fresher gust of wind and the slight falter in the man’s footsteps before they stepped into the bright light.

“The cops are here?” the man murmured.

“Not yet,” Thor said. “But they will be soon. I heard gunshots, we can hide in my car and leave if something happens.”

“Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Thor scanned the area. He did not like their odds, alone in the dark alley, crossing the street would leave them exposed. This entire wretched part of the city was brimming with poverty and gang wars, and people avoided it whenever they could.

His car was parked where he left it, on the other side of the street. He had sat there for a while, waiting for the police, until he noticed the movement and saw the lone man in the dark. It did not surprise him that the authorities had yet to arrive, as they did not venture into this area any more readily than ordinary citizens did. But Thor could not leave a possibly injured person at the mercy of their wretched cowardice.

Said man was now not-so-gently elbowing him in the side.

“That’s your car, isn’t it?” he said. “Let’s go then, if you’re done sight-seeing.”

Nothing cleared the streets faster than the sound of trouble, butThor noticed a number of curtains shifting in the windows, as if they were being observed. Perhaps it was just adrenaline messing with his perception, but he still chose a longer path, taking them around the feeble circle of the streetlamp’s light.

The man held his breath and squeezed Thor’s shoulder as he struggled to keep himself from falling down.

Once they made their way, Thor took a moment to rest, huddled behind his car. It was comfortingly familiar and, more importantly, they could no longer be seen from the warehouse. Next to him, the man collapsed and wheezed for breath, every movement of his chest causing him to wince. Thor felt a phantom ache in sympathy; he had broken a rib once, early on in his MMA career.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

The man’s head turned to give Thor an incredulous look. His face was colourless in this light, painted in blacks and oranges, almost unearthly in its appearance. The mocking twist of his lips added new shadows to its structure.

“Splendid,” he sneered.

Thor huffed a laugh, fully aware that it was stress rather than actual amusement. But the man actually smiled in return; pale and ghastly, but a smile nonetheless. This entire situation was verging on ridiculous, because here they both were, giggling over the prospect of their very possible death.

A loud bang startled them out of this delirium. Thor scanned their surroundings and then, not having seen anything suspicious, crouched to observe the warehouse through the windows of his car. It was still there, dead silent, large double door hiding whatever trouble lurked within. But nothing moved; the noise might just as well have been a falling support beam or whatever.

Something Thor did not believe for a second.

“Come on,” he whispered, gesturing with his hand. He had to beep the car to unlock it, and the lights flashed when the alarm disabled, but there was nothing he could do about this particular feature. Still, he muttered a few curses as he eased the door open and helped the man inside.

He did not breathe easier until they were both safe, Thor in front of the steering wheel and the stranger in the passenger’s seat.

“Wait,” he said, with keys frozen on their way to the station. “What if there’s a bomb?”

The man blinked at him slowly.

“A bomb,” he repeated.

“Yeah. Like in the movies. It’ll explode the moment I turn on the ignition,” Thor kept his voice light, but there was an uneasy voice in the back of his head. Given how his evening had gone thus far, it wasn’t completely off the table.

“Turn it on and we’ll see,” the man said, sounding _curious_ , of all things.

They both took a deeper breath when Thor’s shaky fingers gripped the key; both held it while he turned it.

With a low hum, the engine roared to life. The car did not explode.

All air left Thor’s lungs in a rush. He was laughing again, as was the bleeding man next to him. He was feeling decidedly too light-hearted about the whole thing, Thor mused, easing the clutch and setting the stick on neutral while they waited for the police to show their lazy asses.

“How many men were inside?” Thor asked, keeping a careful eye on the street and the warehouse.

“Seven were still standing when I left,” the man said. He had taken a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it to his forehead, above the wound. Blood was still trickling down his face, but most of it was clotted by now, stopping the flow. “But we can always ask.”

“Yeah, no,” Thor said. The moment of relative peace and quiet was really getting to him. He was more nervous now than back in the alley, where the threat was almost tangible. But now he had a thousand questions running through his head, getting louder by the second. Just who _was_ this guy? A dealer, an addict? Gangster, FBI agent, fucking assassin-for-hire? Or an innocent bystander, somehow totally at ease with blood and muffled sounds of gunfight? He spoke of the “seven men standing” so casually, as if the implied others were already dead – a chill ran down Thor’s spine. But he needed to _know_. What was going on, and why, and—"What’s your name?“

"Hmm?” the man asked. He had tilted his head back and closed his eyes; Thor had a good opportunity to admire his profile in the orange lamplight. Even like this, he took notice of the sickly pallor and the uneasy way in which the man breathed. “Loki.”

“Just Loki?” Thor asked.

“Mhmm,” Loki said, his lips tightening for a split second. “Just Loki.”

His breathing shallowed and sped up; he pressed a hand to his side, below his breast, trying to keep the spot still while his chest expanded on every inhale. But Thor was more worried  that he could not examine the wound on his forehead without a source of light.

Still, Loki wasn’t dying yet, and every instinct screamed at Thor to be rid of him. They could wait a while.

“And yours?” Loki asked quietly, after a long span of silence. When he opened his eyes he met Thor’s gaze directly, more aware than he had the right to be given his current condition.

It took Thor a moment to place the question, before he came up with, “Thor.”

“Thor,” Loki’s mouth curved into a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, bloody fantastic,” Thor snorted.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to work out their next move. They were safe here, with the ability to get away at any time. But Loki needed proper medical attention, which ought to arrive right after the police did.

Which would happen soon. Any minute now.

Finally he heard it, after Loki seemingly dozed off: the sound of police sirens disrupting the silence. Some of the tension bled out of Thor’s coiled muscles, and he became aware of other things: the dryness in his mouth, the sweat on his back and, most annoyingly, Loki’s blood on his upholstery.

Next to him, Loki was startled awake. His bright eyes blinked twice in the orange light, scanning the empty street for the police cars. They were still some way off, and Loki went a shade paler, if that was at all possible.

“What are we still doing here?” he hissed through his teeth. “ _Drive_.”

“Relax,” Thor said reassuringly. “Help will be here.”

“Fucking hell,” Loki spat out. “Drive. Now.”

“Loki—”

The sirens got louder, shrill and high-pitched. Loki sank his fingers into Thor’s arm, looking decidedly unhinged now.

“We can’t stay here.”

“Where do you want us to _go_?” Thor asked, baffled. They might get questioned and—well, okay. This looked bad. He had no idea what had happened in the warehouse, and how Loki was involved. Maybe he had reasons to fear the authorities. But right now he had even more reasons to fear haemorrhagic shock or a ruptured lung, so Thor tried to suffuse some calm rationality into his tone. “It will be fine, I swear. We need to get you to a hospital—”

“No hospitals,” Loki said. “Drive, Thor. Now.”

Something about his cold, haughty voice grated upon Thor’s nerves. This man had no right to tell him what to do in that tone reserved for issuing orders rather than explanations. So Thor sat still, calmly bearing the intensity of Loki’s bright-eyed gaze, his mouth set in a thin line and fingers curled threateningly over Loki’s shoulder.

After a moment, Loki set his mouth into a humourless smile.

“Very well then,” he said. “The other way.”

Before Thor could stop him from reaching below his jacket, before he could register movement from the warehouse – he felt something hard and cold pressed to his ribcage, above his heart; and three people came running out, the sirens were getting louder, he thought he could see smoke and flickering flames—

“ _Drive,_ ” Loki hissed. He held a gun in a steady grip of a man well-used to handling one, aiming it at Thor’s heart. “Or I’ll shoot you.”

His face had not changed much despite the death-threat. Thor thought it probably should have. But odds were Loki really did mean it, and Thor did not much fancy his chances against a speeding bullet at point-blank range.

He put the car in reverse to back out  , the mouth of the gun chilling his skin despite the layers of clothing. His heart beat faster and blood rushed in his ear, perhaps anticipating the possibility that it soon might not be able to do that.

In the mirror, he could see flickering flashes of red and blue lights, and sped up at Loki’s insistence. Then, at the end of the street, he took a sharp turn just as the first police car rounded the corner.

They drove on, with only the roar of engine and Thor’s wild heartbeat audible in the car. Loki kept the gun where it was, with his other hand pressing a blood-soaked handkerchief to his forehead.

“Where to?” Thor asked, once they were well out of range. He surprised himself with how steady his voice was, or his hands; but he knew from painful experience that it wouldn’t last.

“Do you live alone?” Loki asked.

Thor regarded him coldly, said, “No.”

“I don’t care,” Loki said. “My place is off limits. Drive me to yours.”

“Mhmm,” Thor said, turning the corner. “And then what?”

The gun jabbed him painfully in the ribcage while he grazed a curb, too wound-up to aim properly. The streets were slowly getting more crowded, despite the late hour, as they made their way into the nicer parts of the city.

“You’re not the one asking questions here,” Loki said viciously. “Just fucking drive.”

So he did not know. Had no plans beyond this point, probably.

Thor kept his rage at bay. A traffic accident was the last thing he needed right now, even if the idea of slamming Loki into a concrete pillar sounded pretty great. Would serve the bastard right.

Moments later they were driving down more familiar streets. Loki, the asshole, had located Thor’s wallet with scary nonchalance of a trained pick-pocket and was perusing it to make sure Thor was taking them to the right address. Thor had no idea when he had managed to do that – he felt only the jostling of his jacket, but every sensation was background noise compared to the gun pressed to his heart by an unhinged drug-addict.

He found an empty parking spot and darted a quick look at Loki for his _approval_. The very gesture made him want to hurl.

“Very well,” Loki said, unbuckling his belt and opening the door. Here, the light was better and Thor could see every contour of his face, every reflex of light in his sleek black hair. “Now, you will walk me to your apartment without raising suspicion, or it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

“You think you can just shoot me and get away with it?” Thor asked. “Someone will hear a gunshot.”

“Doesn’t matter unless they catch me,” Loki said flatly. “You think I’ve never done this before?”

Perhaps he had, perhaps he hadn’t. Thor didn’t give a fuck, but decided to keep that particular opinion to himself.

Loki got out on the passenger side and then forced Thor to do the same, dragging him out of the car and nearly ripping out the gearstick in the process. Thor was just too damn big at this point, no longer a child who could sneak from the backseat and grab the steering wheel before his parents had the time to react.

The bastard manoeuvred them into a half-embrace, pressing into Thor’s side so that no-one would notice the gun he still kept jabbed between Thor’s ribs. Thor was forced to keep his arm around Loki’s shoulders, with his nose full of Loki’s cologne – a distinct, fresh aroma that masked the metallic trace of blood. He supposed they looked natural enough: two lovers coming home from a party. If not for the obvious injuries, that is. But Thor had come home on occasions looking worse, from training or an occasional bar fight that smudged his police records and were a never-ending source of headache for his parents.

Loki kept casting nervous glances all around them, coiled tight out here in the open. He let Thor lead the way, falling into step almost naturally, swaying his body when Thor did and matching his step. He did not stop fidgeting until Thor punched in the code and brought them both into the staircase, and did not breathe easier until they climbed four flights of stairs to Thor’s apartment.

But then he did relax. And loosened his grip on the gun.

Not a conscious thought flitted through Thor’s mind: he pushed Loki’s right arm as far as it would go and socked him right in his injured rib. Loki made a high-pitched, pained sound, eyes flashing in panic, but nevertheless managed to block the next blow, aimed at his head; Thor kicked him in the shin then, and wrenched his arm until the gun it held fell with a clatter to the floor.

If Loki bent over to pick it up, Thor would have him _dead_. There could only be one outcome to this fight, and that was one in which he won. Not as easy as it should have been, as Loki fought surprisingly well for a man barely able to stand: agile, nimble, dirty. Thor managed to catch him eventually and slammed him into the door, tangling his hand in black hair and wrenching Loki’s head backwards, with two narrow wrists in his firm grip and his own leg blocking Loki’s from moving.

“So what was your plan?” Thor growled, right into Loki’s ear. They were both panting for air, except Loki was almost sobbing with pain, his rib no doubt broken by now. “ _Tell me_.”

“Let me go,” Loki hissed, uselessly trying to wriggle free. “You _idiot_. Someone heard us, they’ll come looking—”

“I don’t care—”

“You are in as much trouble as I am!” Loki said. “Fleeing from the scene of the crime, and all that. Now open the goddamned door.”

“Over my dead body,” Thor said, although he was prepared to push Loki down the stairs before that had a chance to happen.

He took a few deeper breaths. His level of adrenaline was finally dropping, and other emotions besides rage made themselves known. For one thing, he was in some pain, as bruises bloomed over his skin where Loki managed to land a hit. And for another, he—he was holding a man. A tall stranger, going quite limp in his grip, his breathing loud and harsh, blood streaking down his face—

Thor staggered, vision whitening. He hadn't—no. He was just protecting himself from a gun-wielding maniac, that was all. One who was currently trying to weasel out of his grasp; clearly his condition wasn’t as bad as he had let Thor to believe.

Fuck.

He turned the keys in the lock and growled, “Inside.”

Then, with careful hands and through a handkerchief, he lifted the gun from the floor, holding it at arm’s length but well out of Loki’s reach.

Once they were inside, with the locked door barring them from the rest of the world, Thor flipped on all the lights, illuminating the mess that was his apartment. Then he forced Loki into a straight-backed kitchen chair.

Loki blinked twice in the harsh lights, his face scrunching in a childish frown.

“I though you didn’t live alone,” he said, taking careful measure of his surroundings. Dirty dishes were piled up in the kitchen sink, empty pizza boxes needed taking out, and the table was buried under the debris of books and notes.

“I don’t,” Thor said flatly. Jane wasn’t here, thankfully, away on some sort of expedition in Norway.

After a few tries, he managed to eject the magazine from the gun. A single bullet was left, glinting gold. He stared at it, transfixed, and then shoved it into a small plastic bag, wrapped in a tissue. He moved methodically, aware of Loki’s eyes on him, to remove any possible imprint of his fingers. Whatever happened at the damned warehouse, Thor wanted nothing to do with it.

Loki sat slumped in his chair. For the first time, Thor could take a clearer look at him: tall man, almost as tall as Thor himself, and roughly the same age. His ink-black hair was pulled back with tons of hair gel, and his face was sharp, angular, with finely-sculpted features and oddly bright eyes. The thin line of his mouth curved into a pained smile.

“Can I get a glass of water?” he asked. Thor snorted at the studied politeness in his voice, as if it had been anything resembling a friendly visit.

“Are you going to fight me again?” he asked instead, curling his fists and tossing a lazy smile in Loki’s direction.

“I just asked for some water, stop with the macho posturing,” Loki grumbled.

“You’re the one who pulled a gun on me,” Thor said. “Come here.”

He seized Loki’s upper arm and pulled him out of the chair, to the bathroom, ignoring his protests. The interior was slightly cleaner than the kitchen, as both Thor and Jane were particular about that. There was just enough room for the two of them to stand comfortably, but in the smaller space, Thor caught another whiff of Loki’s cologne and was momentarily distracted from the task at hand.

“Stop pulling me around,” Loki said, still pouting like a child. He took a seat on the edge of the bathtub, with his long legs stretched before him and arms folded protectively across his chest. His fingernails were painted a glossy black, Thor noticed.

“Take off your clothes,” Thor told him.

He had strong suspicions that Loki’s behaviour was just an act; the way he sat right now, bolt-straight, mouth falling comically open, just served to prove it.

“What _for_?” Loki asked. With some grim satisfaction, Thor noted the edge of panic lacing his words. Oh, he knew very well how he must look, towering over Loki and making such demands of him; he tried to stifle his rage for long enough to explain the situation.

“I need to know if you have other weapons on you,” Thor said. “And then check for injuries.”

“I’m not buying your Good Samaritan act,” Loki said. “Motherfucker. And do remember, I’ve brought you here as my hostage—”

“Do you ever shut up?” Thor said, smiling despite his best intentions. It was all stress; it had to be.

“Maybe,” Loki said. “Turn around.”

“No,” Thor said.

Loki shrugged, and relented. He unzipped his leather jacket in one, quick movement, and tossed it on the floor, followed by the silky folds of his green scarf. Then he slowly began to unbutton his shirt, blood-soaked and crumpled but obviously high-quality. His long fingers moved cleverly, making quick work of the tiny buttons, revealing a black tank top that clung to his lean, muscled chest. He kept staring at Thor with a blank look in his eyes, all the fight having deserted him, but Thor knew better than to trust his act.

His shirt joined the pile on the floor.

He had no more guns on him, but there was a knife concealed at his belt that Thor removed himself, weighting it in hand. Loki’s eyes followed it but he made no comment.

Unprompted, he began to take off his boots and then unzip the button of his pants. Thor felt a surge of relief that he _was_ wearing boxers, black to match the undershirt; the situation was plunging from dangerous straight into uncomfortable, and he very much wished he wouldn’t have to be here to watch it unfold.

Finally Loki was almost naked, save for the scandalously tight underwear. He didn’t even wore a bulletproof vest to a shoot-out he had to expect would happen, but he made sure to look fetching when undressed; Thor nodded, mostly to himself, and shook another two knives from Loki’s boots before gathering the entire pile and shoving it into a bag. This kept getting better and better.

He rubbed his face, aware of the pickling sensation of Loki’s gaze on his skin.

“Listen,” he said. “I’m going to examine you now to make sure you’re okay. And after that,” he bit back the obvious _You’ll get the fuck out of here_. “…we’ll see.”

Loki just shrugged, wincing in pain when the movement jostled his ribcage. But he remained quiet, subdued; perhaps the vulnerability of his position finally got to him. Or perhaps it was another ploy meant to deceive Thor.

Well, no matter.

In the harsh white light, Thor could finally get a better look at the wound that ran the left side of Loki’s face. It began below the hairline and continued all the way to the zygomatic bone. The blood had congealed at this point, but it covered Loki’s pale skin and obscured Thor’s field of vision.

Thor’s first aid kit was assembled after many trips spent sailing and hiking in unhospitable terrains, and was perfectly equipped. Even though he hadn’t had much time for travelling lately, what with the exams and med school being a general pain in the ass. But the contents of the bag remained in place, organized much more neatly than the entire rest of Thor’s apartment.

He pulled on gloves and proceeded to wash the blood off Loki’s face, carefully avoiding the wound itself. Loki tipped his head back, closing his eyes; he had long, black eyelashes, curling upwards above his cheeks. There was a faint shadow of a smirk stretching his narrow lips.

“You’re a doctor, then?” he said. “My oh my. I got lucky.”

“Not yet, but I will be,” Thor said. “And what about you?”

“We have a small family business,” Loki replied lightly, his head rested against the tiled wall. Bloodied water was running down his face, revealing more of the pale skin beneath. “Offering services of various kinds to a certain type of people. I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”

Thor let that comment slide and continued to work in silence. The wound was about five centimetres in length, sharp-edged and not very deep; as if someone dragged the tip of a knife down Loki’s face, careful not to damage him too badly.

This was easy; this was something he was used to. He cleaned the wound thoroughly, with sterile gauze and antiseptic, and then laid out the rest of his tools: syringe, forceps, needle holder, scalpel, sutures. Loki kept eyeing them suspiciously, but remained still beneath Thor’s hands, letting him have his peace.

“What happened at the warehouse?” Thor asked, in the voice he adopted whenever trying to calm down jittery patients. He filled the syringe with lidocaine and disinfected the skin around the wound, tilting Loki’s head to get a better view.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Loki said smoothly.

“I’m asking because it might be important,” Thor said.

“It’s not,” Loki said. “We had a friendly disagreement, that’s all. There’s a lot of contenders for such a small market.”

He flinched when the needle pierced his skin. Thor gave it a moment for the analgesic to kick in and then pricked the swollen skin to make sure it did.

“People died because of your disagreement, didn’t they?” Thor said, in the same calming voice. He had seen a number of bullet wounds during his time spent in ER on rough nights, mostly content to observe trauma surgeons at work. As always, time was crucial. And given how long it took for the ambulances to get there…

“I think they died because they got shot,” Loki said flatly. He looked almost bored, if not for the green eyes focused on Thor, hungrily tracking his every move. Thor found that even more unnerving then the subject of their conversation.

“Did one of them do this to you?” Thor asked, picking up the needle holder and tearing a small curved needle out of its package. Running subcuticular suture would leave less of a scar; Loki might appreciate this.

“No, I tripped and fell down some stairs,” Loki said, snorting. “Of course they did. Some asshole with a grudge against Laufey.”

He finally looked away when Thor picked up a bit of his skin with the forceps. Now Thor had a better view of his profile: slightly pointed nose, long eyelashes, half of a bitter smile.

“It had to end in bloodbath, see,” Loki said, mostly to himself, since Thor had no idea what he was even talking about, and could only listen with half an ear anyway. “Surtur, Malekith and Laufey arrived for this meeting, to settle some tiresome territory dispute. Except you can’t get all these testosterone-addled fuckers in one place without _someone_ pulling the trigger.” He blinked, some shadow passing over his face, as if he was sorting out an unpleasant memory. “I don’t know who shot first,” he muttered. “Wasn’t me, anyway. I was—” he let out a long breath. “Otherwise occupied.

Thor nodded and resumed his suturing. The story didn’t tell him jack shit, except for the lingering suspicion that he should kick Loki out at the earliest opportunity.

"And then _you_ showed up,” Loki said. “To nurse your goddamn hero complex…”

“I heard gunshots,” Thor said. “Called the police. But then I saw you alone in that alley, and I thought—”

His movements were quick, well-practiced, and the suture pulled two edges of the wound neatly together. There was still some blood that he dabbed away with gauze, only to resume his work. He’d rather concentrate on this than on Loki.

He finished the suture with a knot and cut the excess of thread with a scalpel. The he disinfected it again and put more sterile gauze over the wound, securing it with bandage.

When he was done, he noticed Loki staring at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Are you done?” he asked quietly.

“Not yet,” Thor said. “Wait here.”

He cleaned up the mess and fetched a stethoscope, manometer, pulse oximeter – just to be sure, really.

Loki pulled up his undershirt of his own accord. The right side of his ribcage was coloured a nasty shade of purple; courtesy of Thor’s earlier blow, perhaps. He felt a twinge of guilt at the sight of it, particularly as Loki inhaled sharply when Thor attempted to examine him.

“It _hurts_ , what more do you want to know?” Loki hissed.

“Don’t be a baby,” Thor said, tad amused.

“Well, you’re the one who punched me.”

“ _You_ threatened to shoot me!”

“Yes, well,” Loki smirked. “I needed to get away and you were so damn slow…”

“Fuck you,” Thor said cheerfully.

Loki pouted, making all sorts of displeased sounds when Thor prodded at his chest and then listened to his lungs.

He shouldn’t be noticing things like this, perhaps, but Loki’s skin was soft to the touch, and pale, save for the odd tattoos covering his torso. Maybe there was some meaning to the pattern of parallel lines, running straight or curving into whorls, perfectly symmetrical. No words and symbols stood out to Thor, and they were only a shade darker than Loki’s skin and sparse enough to look aesthetically pleasing. If he had to guess, it was some kind of gang branding, a mark that placed Loki underneath one of the three men he had mentioned earlier.

“Do you always stare so much?” Loki asked, mouth quirking.

Thor didn’t deign him with an answer. Loki’s general state wasn’t overly worrying, and lingering on the examination made Thor uncomfortably aware of the smug, knowing look in the man’s eyes, as if Thor had pleased him greatly by staring.

“For the record, you should go to the hospital,” Thor said. “Never say I didn’t tell you to.”

“Yes, yes,” Loki said, shoulders dropping a little when Thor broke eye-contact. “Whatever.”

Thor began packing away his equipment. The bag with Loki’s bloodstained clothes was still there, and well—

He stormed out and came back with a T-shirt, relatively new and clean. He gave it to Loki along with the rest of his clothes.

“For you,” he said. The words, _Now get out_ hung between them, unspoken but implied; hopefully Loki would get it.

***

Half an hour later, Loki was still in his kitchen.

“I told you,” he said, taking a dainty bite of the sandwich and sipping his tea like a proper gentleman. “I can’t go back.”

“Won’t anyone be worried about you?” Thor said. He still couldn’t believe he had agreed to _feed_ Loki, on top of everything else. It was almost like coming home with a stray cat, which whined pathetically until it got a full bowl and then made itself at home, unprompted and unwelcome.

“No, they are more likely to shoot me,” Loki said easily. He had put more sugar in his tea than Thor thought humanely possible, and was drinking it with a look of pure bliss. He had sorted out his appearance, and was looking almost casual, except for the bandage wrapped around his head and Thor’s shirt hanging loosely off his frame.

“What for? Surviving?” Thor asked.

“That, too,” Loki said, with a shadow of something darker clouding his features. It passed quickly, and Thor was met with the familiar smirk once again. “But they might accuse me of, how should I put it… Having a hand in escalating the situation.”

“At the warehouse?”

“Most recently, yes. You see, some of the intel distributed before the meeting was not entirely true, and tempers might have been running unreasonably high” Loki shrugged when he noticed Thor’s disbelief. “You wouldn’t believe how dull gang wars can get.”

“People died,” Thor reminded him flatly.

“Very unpleasant people,” Loki said.

He went back to his tea and sandwich, wolfing it down like a man starving.

Thor rubbed his face between his hands. Loki was _fine_ , and there was no reason to let him linger; except that maybe, well, it was past 1 a.m. and Thor didn’t quite like the idea of setting a wounded man loose on the streets.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Thor said. “And—look. I’m going to bed. You can sleep on the couch if you want to.”

Loki nodded absent-mindedly, as if Thor’s offer had been so obvious it wasn’t worth a mention. Instantly, his knuckles itched with the need to punch the guy in his smug face, or to give him another scar to match the first one.

Oh, whatever. It was a hellish day, and so he went to get some much needed rest.

***

He woke up at the crack of dawn, ready to go jogging before heading off to class. Something was tugging at his memory, demanding attention—

The living room was in its usual state of cosy disarray, but something was decidedly out of place: a folded blanket on the couch, with a hand-written note pinned to it. Memories came flooding back, and for a heartbeat, Thor was staggered by his own stupidity. He didn't—well how _could_ he be this short-sighted? Loki could have slit his throat while he slept.

He crunched the note in his fist before he had a chance to read it properly. Then, smoothing the paper, he saw elegant cursive writing and a smiley face at the bottom. It said:

_Dear Thor,_

_Please be aware that I think you’re an idiot. Albeit a pretty one, so come to this bar and I’ll buy you a drink :)))_

_Cheers, Loki_

_PS. I took ur shirt._

There was an address, too, but Thor was going to ignore it. He was.

***

He changed his mind about ignoring things when he realized that no, the shirt wasn’t the only thing Loki took. Thor’s wallet had been emptied of cash and the credit cards. Blocking them was easy; new ones would get here soon. That might be the end of it.

But, more than a week later, there was still murder festering in his heart. Oh, he would have _words_ with Loki.

***

Again, the address took him to one of the worst parts of town, although far away from that warehouse. The bar itself was on the waterfront, the dim bluish lights spilling from the darkened windows. It looked eerie at this hour of the night, alien and unhospitable. The bouncer at the door tensed at the sight of Thor, but let him through as soon as Thor opened his mouth to say, “I’m here to see Loki.”

Well. If that was not the password, it was close enough.

The tall, narrow corridor led to a bar area, which seemed perfectly ordinary. It was a bar, quite crowded, filled with drunk laughter, clinking glasses and the steady beat of music. Possibly there was a dancefloor below, Thor couldn’t tell. The patrons were giving him unnerving looks as he made his way through, but Thor kept gazing straight ahead.

A balcony was curving around the room, the back of it bathed in shadows. Spiral staircase led up to it, flanked at the bottom with two more beefy bouncers. Thor had the distinct impression that up there was where the real fun happened.

He wondered, briefly, which one of the three gangsters owned this club. And whether or not everyone here was a criminal, or if regular citizens found their way here, to drink a beer or down a shot next to drug-dealers or murderers.

His arrival had not come unnoticed. Two men were circling him, pushing a pair of drunks out of their way with nonchalant cruelty. Bullies, Thor concluded; bastards drunk on their own power. They sported tattoos much like Loki’s, expect one of them had them on his face, and the other seemed to have forgotten a shirt.

“Who are you?” one asked, with a thick gravelly accent and the cauliflower ears of a boxer. The shirtless one just glowered.

Thor gave them a sunny smile. His had been itching for a fight, and he could floor a man larger than that.

“I’m here to see Loki,” he said.

That gave them a pause. He saw them exchange glances – first with each other, and then with a shadowy figure high on the balcony.

“So you’re Laufeyson’s?” the man said, flexing his impressive muscles. “We’ll see about that.”

Thor tried to make out the figure in the shadows. Oh, he was pissed beyond measure at this point, and made no effort to hide it.

“You mean Loki, don’t you?” he said lowly, dangerously.

 _Loki_. The damned smug little bastard, now stepping into the light, with his arms folded casually over the glass balustrade of the balcony. He was dressed in all black, the bright red scar still visible on his forehead, but Thor was more fixated on his hungry smile and bright green eyes, cataloguing every move Thor made with the air of a man observing a particularly interesting insect.

Thor did not appreciate being looked down upon.

He snatched the two men by the collar and banged their heads together, with a crack that carried in the sudden silence. Everyone was watching them now; some even reached for the guns. But Thor was too caught up in his own fury, adrenaline pumping through his veins, his heart beating loudly, strongly; he felt it reverberate against his chest, like thunder about to crash. Oh, _let them come_.

Both men were now sporting matching purple bumps on their head, and were looking at Thor in bleary-eyed confusion. They must have realized they had no support, as the rest of the audience was content to hang back and watch.

Then, a length of time later, Loki’s lazy voice drifted from above, “Let him through.”

Thor snarled in vicious anger. He would not be commanded like this, not even by a gangster.

He hauled one of the men up by the front of his shirt. There was fear in his eyes that Thor forced himself to ignore; but at the very least it got him his full, undivided attention.

“Tell Laufeyson I am not his,” he said, his booming voice carrying through the silence.

Quite possibly he had damned himself to a shot in the back of the head, as he spun on his heel and headed towards the bar, sparing not a glance in Loki’s direction. If he were to die, he’d do so with a glass of the finest whiskey Laufey’s men had to offer, and this was what he ordered. Because well, if they shot him now, at least he would not have to pay for it.

The scotch was damn fine, he had to give them that. He sipped it lazily while the bartender watched him with his expression frozen somewhere between respect and disbelief.

As Thor sat with his back to the room at large, he could not tell what was happening. However, slowly but steadily, the silence gave way to whispers and then to louder conversations, only to smoothen out into the background noise of a busy night at a bar. Snatches of conversation were still audible, but Thor heard nothing of value – save, perhaps, for “…he’s lucky Laufey isn’t here”.

It would worry him more if he knew for certain _he_ was the unlucky one.

The bartender’s face gave away Loki’s approach before the sound of his footsteps did. Thor kept still, half-expecting the cold muzzle of a gun at the back of his head. Oddly enough, it didn’t happen.

“You’ve made your point,” Loki said, barely loud enough to be distinct. “Now come.”

Thor dipped his lips in the whiskey, toying with the idea of ignoring Loki. Let him rage, let him stew in humiliation. This was no business of Thor’s, he had nothing to lose and nothing to gain by coming here. In fact, he should not have come here at all.

He turned around.

Up close, he could see the cold fury written into every line of Loki’s face. His high cheekbones were flushed and his eyes _gleamed_. He held himself stiffly, fingers clearly itching to wrap themselves around Thor’s throat and throttle him for the indignation.

This was as good a challenge as any.

“What for?” Thor asked lazily, swirling the ice cubes in his glass. He hadn’t quite meant to sit as he did, sprawled on the bar stool with his legs apart, but it seemed to aggravate Loki even further. And he was pretty when he was angry.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. The two of them still held the attention of most of the club. All the people, watching, judging; it was jarring to Thor and, as much as he enjoyed seeing Loki like this, he would feel better if they were alone.

“Come and see,” Loki taunted him, with a forced smirk and an impatient jerk of his head. “You won’t regret it.”

There was the blatant lie Thor just had to laugh at. But he could never resist indulging his curiosity for very long, and he still had in mind how dreadfully dull his life had been recently.

“Lead the way, then,” he said, finishing off his whiskey. It burned his throat, but it was a pleasant sensation. Not unlike the stupidity he was about to engage in right now.

Loki’s gaze was trained on him. When Thor stood up, they were finally face-to-face: the slight difference in height was compensated by the boots Loki was wearing, and so Thor was level with his bright green eyes, narrowed in fury.

“Of course,” Loki said, with one last sweeping look that would wither a lesser man.

The crowd parted before them as they walked, side-by-side, Loki with stiff dignity and Thor trying to hide his amusement. Because yes, there was pretty much no way he’d get out of this unscathed, but he had the feeling the fun would be worth the risk.

Loki smelled of the very same cologne Thor remembered from their first meeting. It was strange to have his nostrils full of it, and to have Loki so close. But this was not a thought he wanted to dwell on right now, as they climbed the spiralling staircase up to the darkened balcony.

The space here was just as austere as the bar below, furnished with very dark woods and glass, and illuminated in shades of blue. The light gave it a cold, unwelcoming appearance, as did the few people present, giving them odd looks until they stepped through frosted glass doors.

Another room, and a narrow dark corridor; and then they were in what was clearly the more private part of the club. Loki said nothing while he unlocked a door to what was—well, a bedroom. With a desk, a laptop, and a mess of papers and technological gadgets. And a bed.

Loki was on him as soon as he closed the door, actually managing to crowd Thor against the wall with a forearm pressed to his throat. His face was blotched with fury and a piece of metal glinted in his other hand.

“You bastard,” Loki hissed. “You absolute fucking asshole. You humiliated me over a damn T-shirt?”

“It was mine,” Thor replied calmly. “You took it.”

“You _gave_ it to me,” Loki said.

The tip of his switchblade grazed Thor’s stomach; he was so, so sick of Loki threatening him with a weapon.

“I didn’t _give_ you any of the other things you took,” he said, his voice perfectly calm and steady. “Cash, credit cards… I save your worthless life and this is how you thank me?”

“Oh, don’t blame this on me,” Loki said.

Thor’s own rage spilled over into the flex of his muscles, the beat of his heart; he always felt invincible like this, unstoppable, almost god-like. It was an issue, yes, he had to keep a very tight lid on his temper, on the rough, animalistic violence that he had managed to channel into sports. And it had been so long since he felt like that confronted with another human being.

A person: fragile, breakable. Bleeding heavily in Thor’s car, in the bathroom. It had frightened Thor and, perhaps, it had frightened Loki too.

Loki put up a fight when Thor wrestled him down, onto the hard wooden floor. The switchblade fell with a clatter and Thor kicked it away; and suddenly he had a face full of furious Loki, hissing and scratching and _biting_ , twisted and slippery in his grip. Thor grunted with effort of holding him down, almost, almost managing to keep Loki’s narrow wrists in his grip—but he was free again, unable to punch Thor without the space to gather momentum, but instead raking his sharp fingernails down Thor’s arm.

The long, angry welts filled with blood. Thor snarled, shaking the man beneath him. It would be laughably easy to shake him harder, smash his head on the floor and free himself of the haunted accusatory gaze, the smell of him, the fragile memory of his laugh and his smile.

“I’m a gangster,” Loki rasped. “And you let me into your house. Why?”

“You’re no gangster,” Thor said, unable to find an answer to that question and so grabbing a cheap insult instead. “Just a petty thief pretending to be one.”

Loki’s face twisted with fury. He thrashed again, now fighting to hurt rather than free himself. His chaotic movements were hard to follow, but Thor outweighed him, and had the upper hand in both position and experience.

“Will you calm down!” he said, exasperated. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Yes you did,” Loki said.

They were both panting in exertion: Loki spread-eagled on the floor and Thor straddling him, keeping him in place. It struck him, now, in a moment of clarity, how suggestive their position was.

Loki’s breathing eased a little. In the half-lit room his face was colourless, composed of alternating patterns of light and dark; his eyes were watching Thor with open curiosity.

“What did you come here for, if not that?” he asked, so quiet that Thor had to lean forward to hear him; the space between them shrunk rapidly, dangerously.

“I want my money back,” Thor said.

His voice came out hoarse, as he had trouble catching his breath. Loki noticed, because his infuriating smirk made another appearance.

“Money, right?” he said. His fingers curled lazily in Thor’s grip and he made a slow, sinuous movement with his hips, brushing Thor’s inner tights. The tight black shirt he wore rode up a little, exposing a sliver of pale flesh and sharp hipbones. “Is that all you want from me?”

Thor bit back an angry retort, a growl, anything; but he was running out of anger and his blood was still on fire, aching for some sort of release. His body never felt strong enough to contain all his desires. And, in that moment, even less so.

“No,” he said, shoulders slumping in defeat. It didn’t come any easier to him than it did to Loki. Sore losers, the both of them.

Oh, but he hated that smug look on Loki’s face, from the curve of his lips to the tip of his nose, his sharp cheekbones and haughty eyebrows. And his eyes, green, darkening with desire. Either genuine or very well-faked—Thor had no way of telling but was ready to rip off the mask anyway, expose it for what it was: a game Loki played because he could not beat Thor physically. Another game.

Thor kissed him, demanding, forceful; the soft lips parted for him easily, Loki’s mouth turning out to be wet and pliant and hot, accepting Thor’s tongue and the hand in his hair.

He got lost in it, the slide of their tongues and the sharp edge of Loki’s teeth sinking into his lower lip. His quiet laughter, an arm wound around Thor’s shoulders to drag him down, his hips pushing off the floor to rub the growing hardness there to Thor’s crotch.

“I hate you,” Thor murmured, altogether quite fondly. Loki smiled at him, the bastard, and caught Thor’s lips in an increasingly desperate kiss. Thor let go of his hand and was pleasantly surprised to find it reaching for his cock rather than a knife to stab him with.

They rutted on the floor in near-darkness, Loki’s clever fingers unzipping his pants and sneaking beneath the fabric of his boxers; his hands were so cold that Thor couldn’t help but gasp, feeling their touch on his overheated flesh.

“We could take this to a bed,” Loki said while Thor moved his lips to his neck. The skin there tasted of sweat and cold, and was easily blooming into bruises when Thor bit it. Loki moaned, a low and pained sound, when Thor sucked a kiss below the angle of his jaw, and then turned his head, exposing it for more. “We—could—”

“I’m comfortable,” Thor said, licking his ear. He truly was, straddling Loki, who was _alive_ and never still, searching for Thor with his hands and lips and the prod of his cock, increasingly impatient.

“Well, I’m not,” Loki whined, arching up. Thor lifted him easily, with a hand palming his ass and the expanse of his back, damp with sweat as it was.

Loki gave him a long, filthy kiss that left them both breathless, and then climbed half-way into Thor’s lap to kiss him again.

“Bed,” Thor said, gripping Loki’s thighs, his ass, still clad in the damned jeans. “Come on.”

Somehow, they made their way over. Thor was stalking Loki like he would a prey, never letting him stray far from his reach. And Loki laughed out loud in delight, almost disbelieving at first before settling on a warm, pleased smile, that Thor kissed right off his mouth before either of them could think twice about it. Their clothes came off, their boots they awkwardly managed to toe off while hopping on one leg, still half-buried in each other’s embrace.

He pulled back to take a better look at Loki: his pale skin, rosy nipples, and darker lines of tattoos curling possessively around his body. He traced them with his fingers, from Loki’s collarbone down his chest, past his navel, and then branching out to cover his hips and then track the length of his legs. And Loki’s cock was almost fully hard: long and pale, like the rest of him, the head of it flushed deep red once Thor pulled back the foreskin. Loki hissed sharply at the contact, throwing his head back and guiding Thor’s hand to grip him tighter, faster.

“More,” he breathed. “Just—damn you—”

Thor was panting harshly, working his hand over Loki’s cock to bring him to full hardness. It felt wonderful in his hand, just right, and he missed it, missed doing it with other men, and the raw, simplistic pleasure it brought him. He could do it now, try every trick that brought him off, every angle and swipe of thumb, finding out which one Loki liked best by the changing pattern of his breathing and the way he arched off the bed.

“I won’t last,” Loki said. “No—stop.”

“First you want more and now you want me to stop?” Thor asked, amused. The tip of Loki’s cock was wet with pre-cum; oh, he needed something. Lube. Anything.

“I don’t want it to be over,” Loki said, pushing Thor’s hands away. “No. Shut up. Let me—”

His wicked grin promised many awful, terrible things that Thor couldn’t help but want. And fuck, he moved so fluidly even in this awkward position, coming up to kneel between Thor’s legs instead, the moonlight illuminating every plane of his body.

It was Loki’s turn to inspect him, thoroughly, with curious fingers and tongue. He seemed determined to kiss every inch of Thor, his muscles, his nipples; Thor shivered and tangled his hands in silky black hair to pull Loki up and kiss him again. It was odd, and glorious, to feel that way again, sharing another’s warmth and the deep, thorough press of his lips.

His cock was almost painfully hard by know, pressed against Loki’s. Thor hissed and then thrusted, again and again, digging his heels into the bed to gain leverage. Loki moaned into his mouth, his fingers slipping on Thor’s skin while he scrambled for purchase.

“ _Wait_ , I said. Patience—”

He slid down Thor’s body, marking his way with languid kisses, and then swallowed Thor’s cock down without pausing for breath. Now, right now, with the tight wet heat surrounding him, Thor went breathless, eyes closing and fist tightening in Loki’s hair, urging him to _move_.

Loki’s head bobbed upwards. He breathed expertly, through his nose, his throat accommodating Thor’s considerable girth with ease. His tongue swirled around the head of Thor’s cock, dragging over the slit, and Thor was wild with need, thrusting back into his mouth. He thought Loki might be laughing but he didn’t care, not when he was doing _that_ , sucking with his cheeks hollowed, letting Thor slide further inside, in, _in_.

“Fuck,” Thor growled. “Just—”

But then Loki was pulling off with a wicked grin. The sudden shock of cold air where his mouth used to be made Thor gasp. He was close, so close, he needed only a little more—

Oh. _Oh_. He felt Loki’s tongue slip lower, deeper, over his balls and the skin of his perineum. Thor’s hips shifted by themselves, his thighs spreading, exposing himself to Loki’s ministrations.

Loki’s mouth closed over his hole, tongue prodding the entrance, and Thor moaned, heedless of who might hear him. The deep, wet kisses there felt incredible, and Loki was good at this, kissing and licking, his fingers dug into the meat of Thor’s thighs; little counterpoints of pain to the wet, filthy pleasure. Thor could not see him now, the black-haired head disappearing between his spread legs, but felt every humming sound Loki made. Oh, he felt the clever tongue at his entrance, kisses sloppy with saliva, getting him wet and loose enough for the tip to breach him.

He kept his breathing steady, any protestations he might have had dying in his throat. Loki’s tongue pressed inside him, past the tight ring of muscle, working him open; and Thor felt it everywhere, down to the tingling in the tip of his fingers and the blood pulsating in his cock. He wanted to come so bad, from this alone, Loki eating him out like _that_ , just like that.

But he wanted more. He always wanted more, it was one of his vices, had always been one of his vices. He was wet and open and it no longer felt like enough to satiate him. The need was burning low in his belly, his cock leaking with it, his hand probing mindlessly for the bedside table, in the hopes that he would find condoms and lube.

He did.

“What are you—” Loki said when Thor pulled him up, kissed him, and then tossed him flat on the mattress. His green eyes widened, red mouth falling open when Thor straddled his hips and began unrolling the condom on the tip of his cock.

“Oh,” Loki blinked at him then, finally catching up. “Oh. Never mind. Keep going.”

Thor huffed a laugh, but he was too busy feeling for his spit-soaked hole, pouring more lube onto his fingers. He let Loki deal with the condom while his fingers breached him; one at first, the burn of it deliciously pleasant. And then another, way too quickly, but he’d be damned if he was going to wait right now.

“Are you ready?” Loki asked, his pupils blown wide as he watched every movement Thor made, every flex of his muscles.

“Are you?” Thor smirked down at him.

He felt the tip of Loki’s cock, rigid now, prodding him open. It was easy to angle himself just right, to feel it there, and then sink lower, lower, have it spear him open.

“Fuck,” Loki said, grabbing Thor’s hips to hold onto him. Thor echoed the curse, his mind finally catching up with the intrusion, almost painful. But he forced his body to relax, to accommodate Loki’s cock, and then lowered himself down to take in more of it.

It burned. It burned, but it was glorious all the same. It filled him in to the point of pain, and he rolled his hips to feel _more_ , everything; Loki whined and moaned, and perhaps Thor was moaning too, but he could barely even hear it past the rush of blood in his ears and the incredible stretch of his hole.

He slid down, all the way down, and felt the skin of Loki’s balls and abdomen. There was no more to take, then; so he pulled off and came back again, faster this time, to feel the pulsating cock within him with every thrust. His hips rolled, riding Loki, with Loki’s chest flexing beneath Thor’s grip, his mouth falling open at every movement Thor made.

“Thor,” Loki slurred. “ _Thor_.”

Oh, it was blissful. Thor wanted more, needed it with almost terrifying intensity, fucking himself on Loki’s cock with wild abandon.

 _More_. He felt overwhelmed with greed, kissing Loki again, to feel his stuttering breath and the graceless slide of his lips, so at odds with his earlier composure. Perhaps they both needed it, both aware that this was it, the one night they had before reality caught up with them, chasing away the madness.

But for now, the madness felt just right.

Thor fucked himself, again and again, Loki clawing at his back to urge him on, more delicious sounds and dishonest words spilling from his mouth. Thor’s skin glowed with sweat but he was close, almost there, almost—

Pleasure was building in his stomach, like a storm about to break. And Loki, oh, Loki began palming his cock just so, with more enthusiasm than skill; but the tight ring of his fingers was right, exactly right, and Thor ached with it, the sensation of being filled and the pressure on his cock, all at once.

Every muscle in his body tensed, but he didn’t stop moving, riding the wave of his orgasm for as long as he managed, before there was no more strength in his body and his blood stopped boiling with need; he had spilled in Loki’s hand, his come shooting over Loki’s chest.

Loki was soon to follow, with a half-broken moan and a stutter in his hips. He buried his face in Thor’s chest and kissed him damply, open-mouthed, his cock twitching inside Thor.

They sat, panting, Loki clinging to Thor in some suspicious parody of a hug. With the fading echo of his orgasm, Thor slowly became aware of other sensations, little discomforts, like the cramping in his leg and the trembling sensation in his arms, not to mention the soft cock still lodged inside him. But Loki did not seem quite ready to face him, and Thor cradled his head absent-mindedly.

He had no misconceptions about what they did and what it meant, because it meant nothing. Even if he liked Loki – and he was beginning to suspect that he did – his world was not something Thor would willingly chose to involve himself with.

They disentangled, Loki pushing him away, a cool and haughty mask slipping back onto his face. As if Thor hadn’t just seen him fall apart, mouth red and open, moaning Thor’s name; as if there was still the need for games.

“Well,” Loki said, licking his lips. “What now?”

“Nothing,” Thor said. “Nothing.”

They were still close to each other, both covered in sweat. And it felt good between them, the little space of overheated air. It seemed charged, somehow; Thor could not stop staring at Loki, at the pearly droplets of come covering his chest. They remained there, a mark less temporary but more visceral than the tattoos.

Loki followed his gaze, frowning. His expression smoothed out, but Thor was sick of it.

They had met as strangers, yes, and they would part as ones. Thor had enough experience to know that this was simply how it went: he would fall head-first into an impossible relationship, expecting too much and too soon, with no cool head to keep him thinking straight. And then he will be left with a vague memory of something that seemed brighter while it lasted.

Oh, he knew all of this.

But for now, he could only see Loki reaching out to wipe the come from his chest, and Thor did not want him to.

He pushed Loki forward, toppling him over. They landed back on the mattress with a muffled “oomph”, and perhaps Thor was trying to read too much into Loki’s guarded non-expression, but he thought he saw a pleased little smile there.

“You wanted me to come here, you bastard,” Thor said.

“Well, yes,” Loki murmured. “I thought you might need more incentive than a shirt and a note and—ah—”

Thor felt calmer, now. Curious rather than mad with desire. His kisses were slow, languid, paying too much attention to Loki’s skin, catching one peaked nipple between his teeth.

“You were right,” Thor hummed, while Loki writhed beneath him. He had done away with the condom and was completely bare now, wearing nothing but Thor’s come on his chest.

Thor pressed his fingers to the pearly stain of it and began spreading it around, transfixed by the new markings on Loki’s body. Loki encouraged him with a breathy moan, clearly pleased with the attention; and, fuck. Just—fuck.

Loki caught the back of his head and kissed him full on the mouth, clever fingers already working to get Thor hard again. Not a feat Thor was capable of, but worth a try nonetheless.

He was running out of breath when they broke off, both his hands curled possessively around Loki’s sharp hipbones. His lips tingled and his tongue could still taste Loki’s mouth and skin; perhaps, with time, he would taste his cock too. Swallow him down, have his come, and then tongue him open; and then Loki would do the same to him, over and over again, until they forgot everything that existed outside of this little bedroom and the circle of their bodies.

“Mhmm,” Loki said, when Thor nudged his forehead with his own. “You should leave.”

“Oh, now you kick me out?” Thor asked.

“Laufey will be back soon,” Loki murmured, his damp breath tickling Thor’s ear. “It’s his house, I would have to introduce you.”

“Let him come, then,” Thor said, uncaring. His hole felt empty, slick with spit and lube, and the sensation was not quite pleasant. But it only made him think of taking Loki again, riding him until they were both spent.

In truth, he wasn’t yet done with Loki. And perhaps he was inviting even greater trouble upon himself; but it seemed infinitely less important than Loki’s teeth grazing the shell of his ear. When the time was right, they would face Laufey along with all the consequences. For now, Thor intended to stay busy.

And besides, he had never in his life run away from danger. He wasn’t going to start now.


End file.
